


Worship

by Sonzaishinai



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Dark, Dark Superman, Deity Kal-El, Devotee Bruce Wayne, Eh I guess they could be looked at from diff perspectives, Fictional Gods, Fictional Mythology, Human Bruce Wayne, I just wrote them in as an implied couple cuz that's what I'm used to, M/M, More like idk back when knights and squires were still a thing i guess, Mythology - Freeform, No superheroes, Not set in a modern era, Shoulda named this The Deity and the Devoted, Small plot twist (?) at the end, idfk, no capes AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 19:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17371568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonzaishinai/pseuds/Sonzaishinai
Summary: The world was built on the will of the Old Gods.This has been a fact of life for Bruce ever since he was an infant.





	Worship

**Author's Note:**

> Vent wrote this at 4AM cuz I was thinking back to a fic and a cartoon I watched when I was younger and this plot got stuck in my head cuz a it.
> 
> Nothin solid, rlly, just some weird ass shit I decided to put into text. Tbh I think I just liked the idea which is why I couldn't shake it off. THe idea of a darker Superman enamors me so i wrote it. Also, I like mythology.
> 
> Enjoy/Hope you enjoyed.

The world was built on the will of the old gods.

 

Bruce knew that to be a fact.

 

The old gods; their freedom and lives a testament to their power.

 

Bruce’s parents knew this. Their tales were passed down for millennia, a whole lineage of dedicated followers. From parent to child and onwards. 

 

Memory… Memory was essential to the old gods’ existence. Without people to remember them, they’d fade away. With time came the erasure of their followers, little else to be preached as humanity branched off, disrespecting the old golds’ contribution to their lives.

 

And yet, they didn’t interfere, letting humanity go about merrily, their perception of time, incomparable to that of mortal beings, generations coming and going uneventfully, awaiting the days to their death.

 

And that was why the Wayne lineage was so important; devoted to eternalizing the old gods, passing down centuries worth of folklore to ensure that their patrons weren’t erased. The old gods were rather fond of them, showering them with fortune, though unasked. Regardless, they appreciated the gesture. Their gods were pleased with them, and the limitless aid was distributed to their own people.

 

It was simply misfortune, though, that made for the deaths of Bruce’s parents early into his childhood. 

 

For all he mourned, though, he couldn’t blame his gods. Hidden away by his beloved butler and joined in grieving by his kingdom, the old gods begged forgiveness. He gave it effortlessly, though with sorrow, and assumed the void that the departure of his parents had caused, a burden that his patrons pitied him for carrying.

 

Now in his late twenties, Bruce still laid his devotion, reigniting beliefs and strengthening his gods who favored him in return, continuing the tradition of receive and redistribute that his family had upheld without objection. For his devotion and his love for his patrons, Bruce was given the wonderful gift of chance; a chance to create from the blood and ashes, the void and depression that lost family dealt, a new family, and similarly bring light into the bleak lives of similarly suffering children.

 

To be a guardian in painful times like his beloved Kal-El was.

 

A purr of welcoming dread struck the depths of Bruce’s gut when he reached the boundary separating the forest from the ancient forest; similar looking but by all means, different. A realm that's forbidden from entry by the unwelcome and a safe haven for those devoted to the old gods. Here, Bruce ignored the welling negativity that shook his bones as a child, leisurely strolling to the midst of the gods’ conglomeration, shadowy and dripping with horror incarnated in some areas and vibrantly aflame with life in others. 

 

Kal-El was one of the gods borne of tragedy, though very empathetic. Following his parents’ death, Kal-El had stayed behind, refusing to depart with the other gods. Again, he was borne of tragedy, and so, grief, he was well acquainted with. A billowing shadow of hurt and sorrow with the brightest blue, hypnotic eyes Bruce had ever seen and a golden heart, he couldn’t bear to leave the child alone, pulsing with vicious hurt, unlike anyone the god had ever encountered before. 

 

And so, Bruce curled into the arms of the massive embodiment of terror itself, he cried, letting loose the grief entangled with the wordless sympathy emitted by the old god. When Bruce was hurting, he was there, and when he requested, Bruce delivered his own devotion, appearing to his summons and letting himself get lost in the embrace of his old god; one that sought warmth that contradicted his seeping coldness. Hours, they’d spend, Bruce enamored by the emotions that constituted his unsightly patron, the paranormal being dripping with dread and Bruce encased in its entirety.

 

Now, Bruce was appearing to his deity’s summons again, passing hellos from other gods embraced graciously and gratuitously. He’d always be welcomed here, in life and in death.

 

On reaching Kal-El’s territory, the trees withered, air dense with anxiety like a living nightmare. It’s been a long time since Bruce acknowledged the fear that’d always settle into his gut. 

 

Basket of fruit in hand, Bruce bypassed the less than welcoming gate that alerted his beloved of his presence. Minutes into his tread, he felt Kal-El settle in the air around him, the panicked sixth sense warning him of a predator in his midst going unheeded. In all honesty, his children and Alfred found Kal-El disconcerting, too, but their worries went unheeded, or at least, debunked. They did little to interact with Kal-El, and so they didn’t know of his kind side, blinded by the darkness that swelled in his presence.

From a swirling shadow before Bruce, a pale face emerged, sockets sunken and that hypnotic gaze swirling about against a bloodshot web. Below, sharpened teeth belonging to the hook of an inhumanely sharp jaw and cheekbones curled into a devilish smile that didn’t mean anything else but sheer, unadulterated joy that could be equated with that of a child’s.

 

From his basket, Bruce lifted an apple, offering it up to his beloved who took it without hesitation. The crunching of teeth against the crispy favored treat echoed as they took a winding path that ventured into the depths of Kal-El’s shadowy territory, unspoken words of endearment and gratitude drifting between the two. 

 

Little could be done to separate the deity and the devoted.

 

That’s how it’s going to remain, even in the eternity after Bruce’s death.

  
  
  


That is, assuming that Kal-El would allow his kind little puppet to die.

**Author's Note:**

> Vent wrote this at 4AM cuz I was thinking back to a fic and a cartoon I watched when I was younger and this plot got stuck in my head cuz a it.
> 
> Nothin solid, rlly, just some weird ass shit I decided to put into text. Tbh I think I just liked the idea which is why I couldn't shake it off. THe idea of a darker Superman enamors me so i wrote it. Also, I like mythology.
> 
> Enjoy/Hope you enjoyed.
> 
> (Yknow now that I think about it, in the midst of posting this, the fact that I wrote off these two fucked up dorks the way I did is weirdly inappropriate. They start off as friends when Bruce is a kid and get together when Bruce is in his late 20's while weird ass Kal El over here is as old as time ._. Wtf was I thinking when I started this at 4:02AM??? Yall, should I tag this as underage??)
> 
> (What BS is this, I wrote this w/o giving a fuck about quality or mistakes and yet it's the piece that grammarly finds the least mistakes in)


End file.
